


Stop Skipping Me, Asshole

by alrena



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, author violently projects onto edward kaspbrak, heavy petting and heavy FEELINGS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-01-26 19:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21379507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alrena/pseuds/alrena
Summary: “You’re so tiny you’d need like half a hit to get high.”“Fuck you,” is all Eddie can get out before he’s sitting up again. He looks out over the small circle of his friends, the warm light from Mike’s camping lantern spilling out over them. The shadows seem a little bit deeper, the pattern on Bev’s fleece is a little more interesting, the warmth of Richie’s shoulder near his calf is a little more present. He swallows once, twice, and then sighs a soft, “Oh.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 36
Kudos: 687
Collections: It Faves





	Stop Skipping Me, Asshole

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my super self-indulgent AU where the Losers stay friends when they get to college and because of the support of their friends Bev breaks the cycle of abuse and Eddie manages to remove himself from his mother's direct influence!!!
> 
> Also they get stoned!!!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> beta'd by the ever so lovely gongji!

He’s lying with his head hanging upside-down out of the hammock when he says it, and the Losers go silent.

“What?” Bill asks, staring at him with a dumb look on his face, a joint hanging loosly between his gloved fingers. It’s cold in the clubhouse and they’re all back home for a well-deserved break after junior year finals. The snow that had snuck through cracks in the wooden ceiling has almost melted into the hard dirt, with the heat of seven warm bodies down there. Ben and Bev share a blanket where they’re all huddled in a tight circle.

“What do you mean, ‘what?’” Eddie asks, talking loud and fast now that everyone’s eyes are on him. “I want a hit. Stop skipping me, asshole.” 

“I--I just figured, y-y-you know. You said you didn’t like it, so…” Bill shrugs, his thrifted denim bomber jacket bunching around his shoulders. Eddie’s already got a bit of a contact-high going, and he takes a little bit longer to respond than he usually would, stuck on the way Bill’s shoulders have broadened out over the years.

“Yeah, cuz it didn’t fucking work the last time I tried.”

He yells when Richie smacks a hand to the side of his face and pushes, sending the hammock swinging. “Yeah, _ and _ you had a fucking asthma attack,” he laughs, dark curls bouncing under his beanie. Eddie tries to smack him right back and misses completely, which causes Richie to laugh even harder.

“I didn’t have an asthma attack, you know that was all bullshit. You cough sometimes, too! You don’t have fucking asthma, do you Richie? Asshole.” Richie falls over to one side, curling up on the rough, scratchy blanket they’ve laid out and clutching his stomach as he laughs. Bill only sighs and puts a hand on the hammock, slowing its rock. 

He offers the joint and a lighter to Eddie, who scrambles around to right himself in the hammock. He doesn’t get himself tangled up in his oversized ski jacket, but it’s a close thing. “You know how to do it, right?” Bill asks, ever helpful.

It makes Eddie feel like a kid, so he snaps: “Of course I know how to fucking do it,” as he snatches the stuff from Bill. He palms the lighter, the pale plue of it barely visible under gaudy rainbow and holographic stickers Bev put on there for some levity. It gets a little laugh from Eddie before he puts the joint between his lips—something that now looks so childish being used for decidedly un-childish things, like starting fires in the woods and smoking weed.

It takes a couple of flicks for the fire to catch. Eddie’s eyes cross while he runs the end through the flame. Conversation has started up again, and it makes the nervous energy in him fade a bit. He listens as Stan talks about one of his roommates while he draws in a breath. He hates the way the smoke tastes rolling over his tongue, but the heat that hits his throat and travels down his chest doesn’t feel bad, especially when it’s this cold out.

He feels Richie tap his knee so he turns to him, ready to pass over the goods, but Richie’s looking at him with his hands under his chin and wide eyes like a begging dog and it startles him enough to laugh smoke directly in his face. Richie groans in disgust while Eddie works his way through coughing laughs, falling back into the hammock. “Don’t blow smoke into people’s faces! That’s smoking 101, genius!”

“Oh my god,” Eddie howls as he swings. “You looked so fucking dumb. That was your own fault, _ genius_.” He pulls another drag, kicking his legs out while he holds in the breath. 

Richie tugs on his pants, whining, “Don’t fucking hog it.”

“I’m just trying to catch up,” he explains, voice thick with smoke. He has no clue where they manage to even get weed before coming back to Derry, but he doesn’t exactly care. He’s sat it out the last five times they’ve come down here, sticking to drinking the shitty alcohol they keep stashed in the clubhouse, and he’s sick of being the only one not in on it.

“You’re so tiny you’d need like half a hit to get high.”

“Fuck you,” is all Eddie can get out before he’s sitting up again. He looks out over the small circle of his friends, the warm light from Mike’s camping lantern spilling out over them. The shadows seem a little bit deeper, the pattern on Bev’s fleece is a little more interesting, the warmth of Richie’s shoulder near his calf is a little more present. He swallows once, twice, and then sighs a soft, “Oh.”

Richie scoffs, leaning to pluck the joint and lighter from his hands. “Yep, you’re done with that for now, buddy.”

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie sighs, stuck on the way Richie’s fingers handle the lighter while the rest of the Losers’ babble fades into the background.

“You do this a lot, huh,” Eddie asks, nudging Richie with his foot. Richie has the courtesy to turn his head away while he exhales, coughing twice before he can reply.

“I guess so,” he says as he leans to pass to Stan. Eddie only misses the warmth of him for a moment before he’s standing and muttering, “Move over,” with a slap on Eddie’s knee. Richie flops down beside him and the hammock almost touches the floor, but Richie’s arm is pressed hard against his and he doesn’t give a shit.

“I smoke at school,” he continues, picking at a rip in his jeans. Eddie thinks it’s stupid that he wears clothes with holes in them when it’s freezing, but he also thinks Richie looks good in them, so he can’t be too upset. “Probably not as often as you think, though. I dunno, it’s more fun with you guys.”

“Even though I’m a lightweight?” Eddie asks, his eyes closed and head tipped back to the ceiling. He smiles as Richie tries to rock them with his long legs skimming the ground.

“Oh Eds, that just makes it way more entertaining for me.”

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie protests, but it sounds weak even to his own ears, and he knows he’s smiling. He can’t even think of being truly annoyed, with the scratchy flannel of Richie’s jacket rubbing against his wrist and the surprisingly decent cologne he can smell beneath the stench of weed filling the clubhouse. He just feels good, and he’s happy about it. He objectively knows he hasn’t even hit the peak yet, and he’s content to just ride it out. He lies there with Richie, listening to his friends talk about their lives at school. Stan recently started a birdwatching club. Bill got some short stories published in a popular magazine. Mike got a perfect score on a long English paper. Bev is already thinking of ideas for her senior thesis. Ben just talks about how he wants to reinforce the supports in the clubhouse.

Mike calls over to him, “What about you, Eddie?”

Eddie just shrugs, realizes Richie is probably the only one who could tell he did, then responds, “I dunno. Business school kinda sucks.”

“You’ve been saying that for the past two years,” Ben points out, laughing.

Eddie kicks his leg out and Richie yelps when his heel hits his shin on the downswing. “Better than fucking medical school.”

Richie digs an elbow into his side, cooing, “But Eds, you would’ve been so good at it.”

Eddie elbows him right back. “Yeah, but I also don’t need to be reminded of my fucking childhood trauma every goddamn day, dickbag.”

“Ow! Fuck, okay. Jesus, your elbows are like fucking knives.” Eddie removes his arm from Richie’s side and lets it flop over his chest instead. “Kinda small to be a blanket, but I’ll take it,” Richie says, hugging it to his chest. Eddie doesn’t protest, just turns his head to the other side so Richie can’t see the smile splitting his face. At least if someone comments on how red his face is, he can blame it on the cold.

“You guys are cute,” Bev comments from across the circle, looking awfully cute herself under a wool blanket and Ben’s arm. It just makes Eddie squirm, and Richie holds his arm a little tighter.

“Nah, that’s all Eddie Spaghetti over here, he’s ninety-nine percent of the cute in any situation. The other one percent is my freckles,” he explains, and everyone laughs, and goes back to chatting. Eddie rolls his head back to look at Richie. He rubs his face on the rough fabric of the jacket stretched across Richie’s (broad, bigger than his, hot) shoulders and takes his fill of looking at his profile. The freckles Richie mentioned aren’t as visible as they were when they were kids and running around outside most hours of the day, but they’re still there, and Eddie can’t stop looking. 

Richie turns to him, and Eddie doesn’t pretend he wasn’t looking like he usually does. “What?” Richie asks, voice pitched low, and hell, if that isn’t a rare thing Eddie loves to hear.

“Your freckles _ are _ pretty cute,” he comments, like he hasn’t been thinking it since they graduated high school and he finally got away from his mom’s omnipresent judgement. If college had taught him anything, it was that he really liked guys. He thinks he already knew in high school, but several drunk nights after being dragged out by his roommates to frat parties and bars solidified it for him. It’s not that he’s never kissed girls—he has, but it never really did anything for him. He’s never went all the way with a guy, either, but he knows he’d like to, which is better than him shoving himself in a closet labeled “compulsory heterosexuality and denial.”

He starts when Richie starts talking again, too focused on one darker freckle just next to his mouth. “Fuck. You’re actually high, aren’t you, Kaspbrak?” He looks a little concerned, and Eddie just thinks it’s funny.

“Yeah, that was the point,” he says, using the arm Richie still has a grip on to lightly smack his cheek. Richie grunts and grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together without a word. Eddie keeps staring at him with what’s probably a dopey smile on his face, and Richie ignores him for the rest of the group. He does squeeze Eddie’s hand when he turns back though, and Eddie buries his face in his shoulder.

It’s getting late. Most of them got back into town just that afternoon, and Eddie can feel the excited aura of their reunion dying down as the moon rises higher in the winter sky. The Losers trickle out until it’s just Richie and Eddie, still left in the hammock, hands still clasped together. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say anything, and Eddie’s grateful for it. He doesn’t think he’d have the courage to keep holding Richie’s hand if anyone had made even the slightest comment about it, good or bad. 

There’s been something there for a long time, he thinks. When they were kids, he thought it was just that sort of love-hate relationship everyone has with their best friend. When they got to high school and Richie started shooting up like a tree, he thought it was jealousy. When he went to his first college party and made out with an upperclassman and all he could think was, “I wish Richie were here,” he knew he’d been looking at it wrong the whole time.

Now that he knows how he feels, it’s not terribly hard to notice some of the same things in Richie, but it is hard to hope that something will ever come of it. He hasn’t exactly been open with his sexuality with the Losers, even though he knows they’d be okay with it. He thinks Richie likes guys, because he made a joke about wanting to suck off one of his professors once, but he’s never said it outright. The doubt still being there is what keeps Eddie from saying anything, even now. Even with Richie’s thumb stroking over his own, he finds it hard to hope, and it makes his chest ache.

“Your freckles are pretty cute too, Eds,” Richie says into the dim light of the lantern, swinging one leg in what Eddie knows is a nervous tick. 

Eddie’s face is still pressed to Richie’s shoulder, and he tries to burrow deeper, the flannel rough against his forehead. “Don’t make fun of me,” he whines, reaching over with his other arm to thump Richie on the thigh.

Richie starts to turn over and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m not,” Richie says, face now entirely too close to Eddie’s. He can feel Richie’s hot breath on his near-numb nose and he can feel his heart inch its way to his throat. Richie squeezes his hand again. The action grounds him, a little, but it all still feels like a lot. But he can’t not lean a little forward to press his forehead against Richie’s, can’t stop the need to share air with him. He can’t take this anymore. 

“Eds,” Richie breathes out, and Eddie takes it into his own lungs as he tilts forward that last little bit, puts his other hand to Richie’s cheek, and kisses him. It’s not much more than a firm press of their lips together, but it makes Eddie’s stomach drop somewhere onto the cold earth beneath them. He barely feels Richie’s hand when it rests unsure on his waist, but he definitely feels when Richie starts to really kiss him back. It feels like something he should’ve done a long time ago, and something he never wants to stop doing. He can taste the cola and weed on Richie’s breath when he pulls away to mutter a shaky, “Fuck,” before he leans back in and kisses Eddie with chapped lips and enthusiasm.

Eddie frees his hand to fist it in the collar of Richie’s coat, using it to help him pull himself up and over into Richie’s lap. The hammock swings dangerously, but he doesn’t care. He has the warm length of Richie below him and Richie’s hands on his hips and Richie gazing up at him with an embarrassing look of awe.

“Don’t stare at me like that, weirdo,” Eddie says, landing a half-hearted slap on Richie’s dazed face.

Richie just bunches up his ski jacket around his waist to get closer contact and shoots back, “How am I the weirdo, here? Where do you get off just kissing me like that?” Eddie shoots him a pointed look, and Richie face crumbles into a laugh. “I mean yeah, I’d like for you to get off right here, but where did that come from?”

Eddie lets his hands rest on his chest, drawing absent patterns into the thick pullover hoodie he’s wearing. “Had to happen sometime, right?” he asks, and Richie looks at him like he hung the stars. It makes Eddie want to hide, makes him want to shrink back into the shadowy corners of the clubhouse, makes him want to smother the enormity of his desire and shove it in a deep hole.

Richie grabs him by the face and says, “Yeah. Yeah, it did,” before he crushes their lips together again. There’s very little technique to Richie’s attempt, and Eddie tilts his jaw to try to slow him down. He’d kissed too many other people as practice for this exact moment for it to not go perfectly, thank you very much.

There’s a give and take to it, where Eddie lets Richie’s enthusiasm run wild, where Eddie gradually takes control until he’s the one leading and Richie is gasping into his mouth.

“Fuck, Eds,” Richie breathes, and Eddie stops the ‘don’t call me that’ on the tip of his tongue. He instead drags his lips over Richie’s, runs his fingers over the light stubble on his jaw, takes his bottom lip between his teeth and pulls, a smile on his lips. “Fuck,” Richie repeats. There’s a crease between his eyebrows that Eddie wants to smooth away, but Richie holds him back as he tries to do so. “Eddie, we shouldn’t do this.”

“No?” Eddie asks, claiming a kiss that Richie returns with feeling, before breaking away with a frustrated groan.

“No, we shouldn’t. You’re high. We shouldn’t do this when we’re high.”

Eddie slips a hand under Richie’s pullover and draws it up to rest on his chest. His nose bumps against Richie’s, and he mutters: “But we can. We’re doing it. Look at us go.” Richie laughs like it was punched from his chest, and Eddie can’t stop himself from claiming that smile. They kiss like that for awhile, more teeth than anything. It’s Eddie who pulls back this time, but not before pressing a kiss to Richie’s chin. “Are you okay, though? Is this okay?”

Richie threads his fingers through Eddie’s hair, grown long over the busy semester. Eddie arches into it, his neck taut and straining as a whine escapes his throat. “Yeah,” Richie manages, looking at Eddie in awe. “Yeah, it’s okay, just. Fuck,” he says, and then presses his lips against the firm line of Eddie’s throat. He uses the grip he has on his hair to coax him down until Eddie is under him, whipping the scarf away to nip at Eddie’s collarbone. “We need to talk about this,” Richie reasons, and Eddie can only hum in agreement with how good Richie feels against him. 

The wet heat of Richie’s mouth becomes the point of contact he focuses on. Richie pulls down the zipper of his ski jacket and he can barely feel the cold of winter with Richie plastered over him, running his hands all over him. He does his part too, pushing Richie’s cap off his head to fully run a hand through his curls. He keeps a hand under Richie’s sweatshirt, and he barely stifles his moan when he runs a hand over the coarse hairs on Richie’s chest. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting it, having seen Richie bare-chested at the quarry that past summer, but it was a different thing altogether to be allowed to touch him, and to have him respond so positively.

Richie moans into Eddie’s neck, his breath hot and damp and damning… If his mother saw the marks Richie had no doubt sucked there—-but no, his mother wouldn’t see. He was staying with Stan for winter break, and he never had to see his mother again if he didn’t want to. It stokes the thrill of rebellion in him, and it draws a startled, shaky laugh from his stomach. He drowns in the feeling of Richie pressing kisses from the top of his chest to his jaw to his lips.

Eddie sighs into the kiss, allowing Richie to take the lead again. He sucks on Richie’s tongue as it passes his lips and begins to trail his hand down Richie’s chest to the waistband of his jeans. He’s warm against Eddie’s fingers. Eddie has done this a handful of times before, but it never made his stomach feel as messed up as it was right now. It never meant as much before, even if he doesn’t want to talk about it just yet. He knows it means more because it’s been such a long time coming. He knows it means more because his heart is in his throat as he pops the button on Richie’s pants.

Richie lets out a curse as Eddie sneaks his hand under the waistband of his underwear. Eddie nuzzles the side of Richie’s head when he buries it in his neck. “Still okay?” he breathes into his ear as he kisses at it.

“Shit. _ So _ okay,” the man above him says, shuddering as Eddie’s hand rubs against him. “So beyond okay. So stratospherically okay. Holy shit.” Eddie nips playfully at the shell of Richie’s ear, huffing out a laugh as he does so. “Fuck. You’re so hot, I can’t believe this is happening.” Richie presses a firm kiss against Eddie’s neck again, which turns open-mouthed with a moan as Eddie’s hand finally curls around him.

Richie is hot and thick and firm in his grip and he allows himself a moment to savor it, the scent of his cologne strong from where Eddie’s buried his face in his neck. He mouths a kiss there as he begins to stroke, a certain kind of pride welling up in him when Richie’s entire body shakes. It takes Richie a moment to get his brain back into gear, and then he’s scrambling to undo Eddie’s belt. Eddie’s head falls back in a moan when Richie finally gets his zipper down, and his breath gets caught when cold fingers wrap around him.

“Shit,” Richie breathes out before catching Eddie’s lips in a sloppy kiss. A surprised sound escapes Eddie’s throat as he sucks down Richie’s tongue. He knew it would be like this, the many times he allowed himself to think of it happening. Richie wouldn’t be able to be anything but overbearing unless Eddie chastised him, and he certainly wasn’t going to now. Not when it felt so good. He gives as good as he gets, twisting his wrist when Richie pulls on his dick, Eddie thrusting up into his hand.

Richie moves to press wet kisses to his chin, his jaw, his cheekbone. “Eds, give me some sort of feedback here. Don’t know if I’ve ever heard you so fucking quiet.”

Eddie huffs, trying to catch his lips again. “What the hell do you want me to say, Rich? ‘You kiss like a goddamn golden retriever?’”

Richie indulges him in a softer kiss and a cruel twist of his wrist. “Unromantic, but we can work on it.”

Eddie hums into the kiss, bringing his free hand to cup Richie’s cheek. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he points out. Richie ducks his head to press a kiss to his palm. His lips feel dull and electric all at once against the scar there. It sends his stomach flipping in a different way than the arousal pooling in his gut. The quiet sounds of their clothing rustling against one another and the hammock sound both loud and so far away. “Fuck, Rich. I love your mouth.”

“Now you’re getting it,” Richie praises, and though he’ll never admit it, it definitely does something for Eddie. He tries to grind his hips into Richie’s even with both of their hands in the way. He feels like he’s pulled taught already, like a rubberband ready to snap, and he’d be embarrassed if he didn’t think Richie was even closer than him. It’s like every time he’s thought about this has piled up on top of each other to make him come in the fastest time possible.

He’s proven right in his suspicions when Richie grazes his teeth against his palm and screws his eyes shut. He breathes heavily for a moment before he removes his hand from Eddie’s cock. He licks his palm, and normally it would have Eddie recoiling, but it doesn’t this time because he can only imagine Richie’s tongue on _ him _ , and he has to swallow through a lump in his throat as he stares wide-eyed. Richie notices and winks, _ the asshole_. Eddie only hates him for a second before his hand is wrapping around both of their cocks, and Eddie is too busy trying not to lose it. 

“You’re gorgeous, Eds,” Richie breathes, kissing his palm again.

“Fuck you, Rich,” he bites out, fists his hand in Richie’s curls, and pulls him into a kiss. Their hands work together, and Eddie feels that edge crawling ever closer. He breaks off to pant into the side of Richie’s face, nails scratching at the base of his skull. Richie turns his head to kiss at his neck again, but it turns into him mostly just breathing heavily as he ruts into their hands.

Eddie feels him shudder against his chest and barely hears the warning moaned into his throat before he feels Richie jerk in his fist. He wishes he could see Richie’s face. He’s spent so long wondering what he looked like, like this, and he’s already excited for a second chance. He doesn’t need to ask to know there’ll be a next time.

He presses loose kisses to what he can reach of his jaw before Richie pulls his hand off of his dick a moment later. He jerks Eddie alone, roughly and thoroughly. Eddie’s so close, and he can’t stop the sound that gets ripped from his throat as he comes and adds to the mess on his stomach. His fingers are tangled tight in Richie’s hair, and he uses it to his advantage to drag Richie over to kiss him. He wipes his dirty hand on his pants, uncaring, and cups Richie’s face, coaxing their kiss to a softer place.

Their lips finally part with a light smack and Eddie’s face almost hurts with how much he’s smiling. He bumps his forehead with Richie’s, opening his eyes to see his face a mirror of his own. “Hey,” he says, nudging Richie’s nose with his.

“Hey yourself, hot stuff.” Richie pecks a sweet kiss to his lips, eyes heavy-lidded. His smile somehow grows wider when he presses a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose. It tickles and makes him wrinkle it, which just makes Richie laugh before he does it again. He can’t be annoyed when Richie laughs with so much fondness, can’t be mad when Richie looks at him like the best thing in the world. “Remind me why we haven’t always been doing this?” he questions.

Eddie only shrugs, untangling his hands and resting his arms over Richie’s shoulders instead. “Repression,” he states simply. It sends them both off giggling, and Eddie’s arms wrap tight around Richie when his head falls to his chest and his shoulders shake.

“Fuck, you can say that again,” Richie chuckles. 

“Repression,” Eddie says again, holding back a laugh.

Richie thumps him in the side with a loose fist. “Very funny.”

“I aim to please,” Eddie replies smugly.

Richie sits back and starts to put himself back into his pants. “You certainly succeeded,” he says as he waggles his eyebrows. “You should get a promotion.”

Eddie digs through his deep coat pockets for his pack of tissues and frowns at Richie. “I don’t like the implication that I commit sexual acts for money.”

Richie snorts unflatteringly. It makes a surge of fondness rise in Eddie’s chest, like a balloon pressing against the inside of his ribcage. He wipes himself off quickly so he can pull Richie down to kiss him again. Richie keeps his hands on Eddie’s chest, and pushes back after just a moment.

“Really, though,” he says, looking off to the side. “You should be getting a promotion. Here,” he says, motioning between the two of them. 

Eddie just squints at him and cocks his head, nodding for him to go on.

Richie sighs heavily, tracing the embroidered logo on Eddie’s crewneck as he fixes his gaze firmly on the hollow of Eddie’s neck._ He’s nervous, _ Eddie’s brain supplies, but what he says next still catches him off-guard. “Like, from friend to boyfriend? God, I don’t know,” Richie groans, burying his face in his hands. “That was a lot smoother in my head.”

Eddie panics for a second, nonsensically. The fact that this is happening, right now, finally, stops him from breathing. The unfounded thought that this could change the dynamic of their entire group sends him tensing for too long of a moment. He knows their friends won’t care, and he’s wanted this for so long, but he’s still frozen as Richie grimaces and runs a hand down his face.

“Never mind, Eds. Forget I said anything. Just some fun, right? We’ll do it again some other time we’re being delinquents and leave it at that, no sweat.” Richie gets one leg off the hammock before Eddie is springing into motion, snagging his jacket in an iron grip.

He meets Richie’s eyes, low and hurt, and his mouth works without sound coming out. He swallows and tries again, tugging on Richie’s jacket. “Jesus, no. You caught me off-guard, asshole.” He smiles encouragingly up at him, tugging his jacket a little more insistently. Richie settles down next to him, keeping a wary distance. Eddie hates it, and places a hand on Richie’s cheek before slinging a leg over his lap. 

“It’s stupid. I freaked out about what people would think for a second,” he says, figuring honesty is the best way to go, because he wants to do this. “Who cares, though. I know the Losers won’t care, and I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks.” Richie’s smile comes back gradually, until he’s beaming again.

“Eddie!” he yells, throwing his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and rocking him back and forth. Eddie sputters when he gets smothered in the rough fabric of Richie’s coat and struggles to push himself back enough to breathe. 

“Let me go, you monster! I haven’t even said yes yet!” he manages between laughs, and Richie finally lets up. Their chests are still pressed together, and Eddie knows he’s got a dopey smile on his face. Richie cocks an eyebrow and waves a hand as if to tell him to get a move on. Eddie presses his smile into Richie’s, and he can feel it when Richie rolls his eyes. He kisses him back anyway. Eddie lets his smile fall to kiss Richie more thoroughly, sliding his tongue into his mouth with a happy sigh.

When they break apart again, Richie looks at him with a certain kind of happiness and Eddie finds it hard to explain how it makes him feel. “Hey,” Richie says in a quiet laugh.

Eddie traces Richie’s cheekbone with a light touch. “Hey yourself, boyfriend.”

His smile turns smug when Richie’s hand cups the back of his head to pull him down, a “Fuck yes,” breathed into their next kiss.

He has no clue what time it is when they eventually climb the ladder up and out of the clubhouse. He doesn’t care, really, his high completely gone and replaced with a light feeling that has nothing to do with weed. Richie slaps his ass when he’s halfway up the ladder and Eddie catches him in the stomach with his heel, sending Richie wheezing in discomfort and Eddie wheezing with laughter when he finally pulls himself up onto the snow-covered roof. 

Eddie offers Richie his hand when he reaches the top, and pulls Richie to his chest. “Me-_ ow _,” Richie purrs, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s cheek. “You’re stronger than you look, short stack.”

“I’m going to smother you in a snowdrift and no one will ever find your body,” Eddie says, sweetly, lacing their fingers together before he tugs Richie along.

“Kinky,” Richie states. Eddie hates him, god does he hate him, but he stops to pull him into a kiss anyway at the edge of the tree line. 

“If you think that’s good, you haven’t seen anything yet,” he replies, and laughs when Richie experiences a rare loss of words. 

When they’re up the block from his mom’s house, Richie throws an arm over his shoulder, and Eddie squeezes his waist hard when they cross in front of it. He knows his mother must be asleep by now, but he can feel the house itself watching him, judging him, and he bundles himself a little bit closer to Richie as they pass. Richie presses a kiss to his hair as they reach the corner, but Eddie doesn’t relax until they’re another block away.

They reach Stan’s house not long after, and Eddie’s nose is freezing even with his scarf wrapped over it. His tension drains as they climb the front steps under the warm porch light, feeling more at home here than he’s ever felt in the home he was raised in. He hadn’t even spent all that much time here as a kid.

Eddie sticks his finger through the ring on the spare key Stan lent him and pulls it out of his pocket. “This is my stop,” he sighs, pulling an exaggerated frown.

“Damn, and we were just getting to know each other,” Richie teases, bringing his hands to Eddie’s waist. Eddie lets himself be pulled in, drawing his hands up to Richie’s shoulders. “Kiss for the road, stranger?” Richie asks, and Eddie laughs as he stands on his tiptoes to oblige.

“I gotta go,” he says after a minute of chaste kisses, and Richie just hums as he presses a kiss to his jaw. Eddie rolls his eyes and pats the side of his face lightly. “Rich, the sun’s gonna be up soon. Go home.”

Richie groans and presses another lingering kiss to his lips. “See you tomorrow, yeah?” he asks, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s.

Eddie drums his fingers on Richie’s chest and makes a considering noise. “I dunno. I have plans. I’m supposed to hang out with some friends from middle school, but I guess I can ask if I can bring my boyfriend.”

He laughs when Richie growls playfully and kisses him again. “They’ll love me, Edward. I’m irresistible.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Whatever. You love it,” Richie says with a laugh. “Tomorrow,” he confirms with a final kiss. Eddie shoves his chest playfully as he starts to move away, and Richie stumbles like he’s been shot. Eddie flips him off as he turns to walk down the stairs, and Richie blows him a kiss. He almost busts his ass when he misses a step and his surprised yelp echoes in the quiet night.

Eddie just shakes his head as he finally turns to let himself into Stan’s house. 

He toes off his shoes and creeps to the kitchen to grab a glass of water before he sneaks quietly upstairs to Stan’s room. There’s a cot set up for him in there, and he sees it’s been made up with military precision when he opens the creakless door. Stan stirs regardless, rubbing his eyes sleepily. 

“What time is it?” he asks, squinting into the dark.

Eddie glances at the red lights of the digital clock next to Stan’s bed and winces. “Almost five. Sorry, I’ll be in bed soon.” He moves to his duffel stuffed under the bed and grabs a new pair of boxers and a new shirt, just in case he missed anything earlier. He ducks out of the room again to change and brush his teeth. His feet slap lightly on the hardwood floors of the Uris house, and he sighs when he’s finally able to slide under the covers of the cot.

“Five, huh?” He jumps when Stan speaks, thinking he’d fallen asleep again. “That’s a little bit past your curfew, young man.”

Eddie scoffs, snuggling down further into his pillow.

“Have fun with Richie?” Stan asks, and Eddie can hear the laugh threatening to break through. He groans and rolls over to slap the lump Stan makes under his comforter. “Ow, fuck. Jesus-”

“You’re Jewish, Stan.”

“Yeah, so it doesn’t matter if I take his name in vain,” he says, actually laughing this time. Eddie can’t even bring himself to be annoyed by the teasing. He settles back down, pulling his blanket up to his chin as he stares at the ceiling.

“Shut the hell up, Stanley,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling, and he knows Stan can hear that he is. Stan just chuckles and mutters out a quiet, “G’night,” before his breathing goes heavy in sleep again.

Eddie lets his eyes slip closed. It’s stupid, but he misses Richie already. They’ll see each other tomorrow, and his friends won’t care, and they’ll have the rest of break to spend together. He falls asleep curled on his side with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed! I know it's niche lol.
> 
> Also basically I relate a lot to Eddie and enjoy fucking around while fucked up and I think he'd like it too.


End file.
